I walk out
of the bus station
into immediate shock.
Limerick is much larger
than I expected.
This is a real city,
complete with side streets,
crowds, large buildings,
and shop-fronts.
Though traffic
is less prevalent
than in most cities,
the streets are still full.
There must be ten
different roads
spider-webbing from here.
Trusting in divine providence,
I just go straight.
After two blocks or so,
I come to a church
that looks Catholic,
and go in to find out for sure.
I locate a bulletin,
skim it until I find
the words “Catholic Church”
under the name of the parish,
then check the times
for daily mass.
I take mental note
of a five o’clock evening mass
and go to a pew
to spend a few minutes
with the Lord.
I kneel and close my eyes.
The tension eases,
the worry vanishes,
and peace fills my soul.
As I pray in thanksgiving,
I can feel Him with me
and assurance returns.
After a time
of silent conversation,
I rise
and leave with
renewed vigor.
As I walk out
onto the sidewalk,
I see a sign pointing
straight ahead
that says: Hostel.
Bingo.
Thank you, Lord.
-------
I knock on a large,
wooden door
and wait.
“Hi, I need a place
to stay,”
I say to the girl
who opens the door.
She is of average height
with short, black hair.
She doesn’t appear
to be any older than me.
“Okay, come in,”
she smiles.
I follow her
into the kitchen
where she opens up
a register book;
“Six pounds please.”
I count out the money
then get a tour of
the common rooms
and necessities.
The place is a very old house
with high ceilings
and four stories,
refurnished to accommodate
weary travelers
who aren’t necessarily
concerned with the décor.
We end up at a large room
full of bunk beds.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
I spot an unclaimed bunk
in a corner near a window
and practically dive
into the bottom bed.
I sprawl out
and don’t even try to move
for fifteen minutes.
-------
After the rest,
a shower,
and change of clothes,
I feel like a new man
and the excitement returns.
I look over my map,
and decide that the first leg
of my journey
will be a pilgrimage
to the shrine at Knock.
This will be
a rather lengthy excursion,
so I plot a tentative course
which will get me
to the Cliffs of Moher
and the Aran Islands
along the way.
I then put my stuff
back into my bag,
grab my camera,
and set out to explore.
-------
Halfway through town,
it strikes me
that Limerick
is a lot like
some parts of New Orleans.
In fact, it’s a lot like
every other big city
I’ve ever been in.
I guess a city’s a city
wherever you go.
However,
I can’t help but marvel
at the trust
the shopkeepers have
in their fellow citizens.
There are many shops
with little booths and racks
set up on the sidewalk,
completely unattended.
In a city this large in the States,
there would be some employee
outside watching the merchandise
diligently.
Otherwise, who can say
how long the stuff
would stay there
before being carted off
by passers-by?
I laugh out loud
as I pass a restaurant
called Mustang Sally’s.
I can’t believe that
they have those
even here.
-------
Not until I reach
the other side of the town
do I find Limerick’s
distinguishing feature:
King John’s Castle.
I lean out on the rail
at the river’s edge
and take a look
back in time.
The castle’s reflection
has shimmered on this water
longer than my hometown
has even existed.
The magic of Ireland
begins to come alive at last.
-------
I continue to stroll side streets
and sidewalks,
observing the people,
the places,
and the atmosphere,
until it is almost
time for Mass.
I make it back
to the church
a little early.
After praying
for a few minutes,
I sit and observe
the people
and the architecture.
There’s nothing modern
about this church,
and that’s exactly
what I like most about it.
Its stone walls,
high ceiling,
stained glass,
and statues
give it an air
of holiness and reverence
that is rarely found
in the sterile cafeteria-like
offerings of modern architecture.
My utopian dream
about Ireland’s Catholicity
is shattered, though,
as I realize
that the person
nearest to me in age
must be in his late forties.
I had expected
to see more people
my age
who were excited
about the faith.
In fact,
that’s even part of what
I came looking for.
I guess that here,
as in the States,
young people feel
that they have
more important
things to do
than receive the One
Who has given them life.
-------
After a beautiful mass,
I head back to
the main street in town
to look for a place to eat.
Since my budget is small,
I opt for something cheap
and pop into
a fast food place.
I like Irish fast food
much better than American.
They actually cook your food
after you order it,
then bring it to you
when it’s ready.
I devour a French bread pizza
and some fries,
or chips as they call them,
and return to the streets.
I don’t make it far
before my feet
start begging for rest,
so I give in
and turn back
toward the hostel
to get some sleep.
Just to test my theory
about Ireland’s
relative lack of crime,
I take all the darkest
alleys and side streets
on my way back,
and never once
encounter another person.
It’s nice to feel safe
in a large city.
This is a new concept to me.